You make me addicted

For a Friday night at the Mc bar, it was sort of quiet. I leaned back in my barstool, the wood creaking as I glanced over my shoulder. Most of the booths were occupied with a skeleton crowd at least, the jovial sound of laughter still ringing off the rafters above my head even for a night as slow as this.

My friends had gone home about an hour ago. When wander had arrived, she had practically dragged Carl through the doorway, and he’d leveled her with a look that only made her smirk as if she were daring him to do something about it. The two of them were pretty cute together. Carl deserved to be happy, and I was glad to see he’d found that with her.

I wasn’t sure where the twins and Kingsley were tonight. They were typically my drinking buddies on the weekends.

Slackers. Here I was putting in work all by myself.

I turned back to the bar and swirled my drink unhurriedly in my hand, listening to the soft clink of the ice bouncing off the side of the glass. I took a small sip, enjoying the smooth, smoky burn of one of my favorite whiskies, the amber Very Rare collection. Its exceptional flavor spread across my tongue, slowly revealing the richly nuanced complexities of its make up

I deserved nothing less than the best.

The small bell over the door chimed as I took another sip, my ears well-attuned to the soft, musical melody. I glanced back over my shoulder, catching sight of a very broad, tall man walking through the door.

His bright green eyes captured my attention in an instant. His gaze was striking; a golden brown surrounded the inner ring of his irises, with a deep forest green lining the outer rim. The color combination sparkled as he stepped into the light, giving off an aura of radiant energy and mysterious power.

It made me want to figure him out.

He was wearing a designer suit, Gucci by the looks of it. Such an elegant selection spoke to his sophistication, exuding a sleek, modern style that gave him an air of confidence, or even arrogance maybe. I couldn’t be sure.

His cheekbones were sharp, setting off the broadness of his tense jawline. There was a thick, closely trimmed beard that covered his chin. In the darkness, it appeared to be a deep brown, but when he stepped inside and caught the light of the streetlamp outside, I could see the twinge of a much richer burgundy shade shining through.

His hair was swept to one side, like he’d run his fingers through it when he first stepped out of bed this morning, giving him a carefree edge that I had to admit was more tempting than I wanted it to be.

His gaze leveled with mine for a long moment, a bit ominous and broody, with just the tiniest hint of the threat of danger. It was curiously mesmerizing.

I cocked my head and scrutinized him as he walked across the room. His trajectory headed in my direction, and I lifted my chin as he took the bar seat next to me. Bold.Very bold.

Not many men would dare get this close to me. My name meant something in this city. I had a reputation, one I’d carefully cultivated over a number of years, and I was damn proud of it.

I was Vivian smith and I belonged to one of the most powerful, well-known organized crime families in Boston, especially in Southie. We had our fair share of questionably legal gambling dens, restaurants, and various other establishments that lined our pockets. Our family was closely involved in horse races and shipping in and out of ports. We had contacts all over the world, which meant we could smuggle in whatever you wanted for the right price. For some, we provided protection, if that was what they needed.

I had been the one that had brought several top tier designer establishments under our umbrella too, not just for the profit and opportunity these places presented for smuggling, but as a respected front for us to launder our money should we need it.

I was just as much a Smith as Tim or Carl, equally powerful in my own right. I operated in a world ruled by men, carving my own place in it each and every day. I’d made a name for myself. It was rare for someone not to know it. There was no spark of recognition in his eyes. As much as that annoyed me, it was also refreshing in a strange sort of way.

Dating had always been especially difficult for me, so much so that I think my last excuse for one had been more than a year ago. Most men couldn’t handle a powerful woman, especially if she had more than he did. I’ able to deal with feelings of emasculation and weakness and whatever other nonsense I wouldn’t stand for in a relationship.

It didn’t help that I was a really good shot, too. Men didn’t like it when a woman could outshoot them. In my later dating life, I sometimes planned a first date at the shooting range just so I could weed out the ones that were simply wasting my time that much faster.

Fuck them. I deserved a man that worshipped the ground I walked on.

The mystery man’s proximity was electrifying. I licked my lips, swirling my drink and noticing that it was almost empty. As much as I was comfortable being single, I was still a woman, and I enjoyed sex. I had a very healthy libido that I took care of myself most of the time, but it had been such a long time since I’d had real sex of any kind that this new prospect was seriously tempting.

I was probably getting ahead of myself. Chances were that he was just like the rest of them; a selfish, insecure momma’s boy that needed someone to hold their hand through life.

I was never going to stoop that low, not ever.